Christopher

Up you climb to hug me,

Full of kisses, too;

Stealing sips of my tea,

As only you can do.

As you make yourself a spot,

You cover up your head;

Mommy has to check a lot,

To make sure you're not dead!

Your yellow jammies now fit you,

And make you look so long,

Adorned with Winnie and Tigger, too;

You look so big and strong.

Your smile brings me such gladness,

As year by year, you're growing;

It leaves a touch of sadness;

As onward time is going.

I'll try to hold this memory,

Forever in my mind;

For gladness is remembering,

  The love that grows with time.

                                                 Lynn Cavanaugh

           

                   Ode To A Four Year Old            

              A birthday comes but once a year,     

           You've leaped from three to four;    

   Dreams turn to what to wear, 

 And girlish things galore.     

    At three you were quite elfish,

You loved to kiss and hug;  

And often you were selfish,

Giving brothers quite a tug.

        You grew with disappointments,  

      Were strong and yet, so fragile, 

           Required doctoring appointments,

While learning to be agile   

          No stitches seemed to phase you,

Or hamper you in play;      

Anything would you do,    

For means of making gay.

      But now, you've gained a year,

And have matured to four; 

To play is not so dear,        

 As dancing about the floor.

You want to be a dancer,     

   At four, you are quit certain; 

Ballerina and high prancer,

To play before the curtain. 

You are, as yet, quite tiny, 

     With dreams that do astound; 

      Your eyes so wide and shiny,  

 Curiosity does abound.      

     You really are quite serious,  

In everything you say;     

              Sometimes making me delirious,   

     In a wonderful sort of way . 

I treasure all the days,     

In each and every year;   

But seeing you today,      

 Can't help but cause a tear.

     You've begun to color nicely,

          And your printing is quite plain,

      The alphabet is said precisely;

 You even write your name.

                 What can I say except, "I Love You",

        And this much you must know,

                 Birthdays are happy yet painful, too,

It hurts to see you grow.   

            It doesn't seem you could be four,

       You've grown all quite too fast;

         Today, I give my love to store,   

A present that will last!      

                                                Lynn Cavanaugh

             

                                      

                                                                         Motherhood

                                                      Thoughts in the evening are mine to keep,

                                                      When all my children lay fast asleep.

                                                      The night is still, with just their snores,

                                                      And once in awhile, a creak of the floor.

                                                       The quiet now brings me such pleasure,

                                                       Although their noise is such a treasure.

                                                       This busy Mommy sure deserves,

                                                        A cup of tea to calm the nerves.

                                                        I think of how I spent the day,

                                                        And all the things that are left to say.

                                                        Have I been firm or much too soft?

                                                        Oh, no I think I heard a cough.

                                                        My work seems never to be done,

                                                        Yet having kids is so much fun.

                                                        They take so much of me, it seems,

                                                        That what is left, is only dreams.

                                                         I wouldn't change a single day,

                                                         Except to give, more love their way.

                                                         I renew my strength each quiet night;

                                                         Then start a fresh in morning light.

                                                         The nights are mine to always treasure,

                                                          But in the morn, their noise is pleasure.

                                                          I dread the day the noise will cease;

                                                          I do not need quite that much peace!

                                                                                                                      Lynn Cavanaugh

     

                                                   

                                                                 Just A Housewife     

                                                    Day after day, all melt into one,

                                              As the housewife's chores are never done.

     Make the breakfast and feed the kids,

                                                      I thought, yesterday, this is what I did!

                                                If it's not summer, they're off to school,

                                            Maybe the teachers can teach them some rules;

                                                    Do the dishes and make the beds,

                                                      It seems I will never get ahead!

                                                    

                                                 Gather the laundry and wash the clothes,

                                                 Now, how did I ever miss a pair of those?

                                               Closets each day must be cleaned and resorted,

                                                 And under their bed, a snake's been reported!

                                           Gathering dirty clothes, is like searching for treasure,

                                                Hiding their duds gives kids so much pleasure;

                                                     Even the food items don't hit the basket,

                                             Concealed old apple cores, make me blow a gasket!

                                                     A housewife must be a sort of detective,

                                               And there's no paycheck, cuz the job's an elective!

                                                    Having cleaned and scoured and disinfected,

                                                      You get the rewards that are least expected.  

                                           The children are home and their books are just dumped,

                                                   And now you have entered the 3 o'clock slump.

                                                     Snacks are in order and then there is dinner,

                                                            This is no job for just a beginner!

                                                      A housewife is special in stamina and spirit,

                                                    No other job makes demands that come near it.

                                                        The same old routine, day in and day out;  

                                                           Even in factories, you get a time out!

                                                     So, if you're a housewife and getting the blues,

                                                       Remember, not many can fill out your shoes.

                                                         A true endangered species...the family tree,

                                                     For there is no "family", without those like me!

                                               The flowers on the table, homemade biscuits and stew,

                                                    Are touches, not just anyone can find time to do.

                                                 The helping with homework, the wiping the tears;

                                                 A profession that's endured for thousands of years.

                                                      The Libers may come, the Libers may go.

                                                   And who is there really to show them some woe?

                                                    For memories are made, by those who are giving,

                                                   Thus giving a housewife, a life that's worth living!